The Traveler, Part One
EDIT--04/14/2010 2018 UTC: To be honest, I actually don't remember ever writing this. I was so tired last night but felt compelled to finish it. I'm not sure I'll continue it, simply because I want to finish one thing at a time (Namely, Experiments). PLEASE don't expect this to be finished in any quick amount of time. And DON'T hate me for it.
EDIT--05/16/2010 1433 UTC: What are you people doing? This story sucks. Like, seriously, if I was voting on this, I'd give it a 1/5. It SUCKS. I'm glad some people like it (and even favorite it) but come ON, go read my other stories for some good stuff.
Part One of a One-Shot story about a dream I had a couple nights ago. It seemed pretty epic at the time I had it.
THIS STORY CONTAINS M/F (and a M/M relationship) SO DON'T READ IT IF YOU ARE UNDER 18 OR DON'T LIKE THAT SORT OF THING. (alternately, only read it late at night when no one's awake :D)
The world had gone to hell.
Once the plasma collectors had been activated, our power supply was limitless; no other country could stand up to our awesome rule. It was under these terms that every single country surrendered to America. That, and the fact that the "President" was a complete nutcase and had collectors hovering above every country on Earth. But, even after the surrender, the collectors went active, vaporizing all life underneath them. Including America.
And no one knew why. Partially because they were all dead.
Except for me. I was there. I was there through the whole thing.
"You're crazy!" I told my friend Bill. "There's no way that could ever work!"
Bill was a smallish black wolf. His fur was usually sleek and shiny, but today it showed signs of neglect and general unkemptness; he had apparently been up all night working on his "grand world-changing project." I, on the other hand was a fox with an uncanny aptitude for computers. My fur was barely ever as nice as Bill's fur, nor was it ever neat in any sense of the word. My job, programming, left me little time for the little things. Like personal hygiene.
We had met in a small cafe in town to discuss his project. As soon as I sat down, I was barraged by professional-looking sketches of an irregular-hexagonal affair, random scribblings on revisons of said drawings, and indecipherable pictograms on napkins and scraps of paper. Reminded me of my first shell scripts.
"Look here," Bill said, "these are too simple NOT to work. All it does is focuses the plasma naturally ejected from the Sun into a converter grid, which in turn stores the energy in a battery. Super simple!"
"Unless," I interjected, "you consider how to get the energy BACK to Earth."
Of course he had an answer, pulling out more sketches. "These," he said, pointing at a spherical device, "are energy relay stations, capable of transmitting power as a superfocused beam of light."
"A laser?"
"No, a superfocused beam of white light. Which is not a laser, Matt"
I shrugged off his snide I-think-I-know-more-than-you comment. We WERE sleeping together, after all. I'd rather not upset my soon-to-be mate.
But that's another story. And for you people yelling, "GET TO THE YIFF ALREADY!" don't worry your tails off, it's coming (oh god, that was a pun).
"Fine," I replied, "a 'superfocused beam of light' then."
Bill grinned. "That light is absorbed by these here solar panels, causing an energy transfer. There is some energy lost to heat, but it's negligible in the long run."
"You do realize that ninety-three million miles is a long way, right?"
"These beams reach over one light-year without dissipating a significant amount"
"And you know this HOW?"
Bill grinned again. "I compared it to the dissipation of your cum in my ass."
Several furs looked at me. "What?" I said to the accusations of the eyes around me, "It's none of your business!"
Most of the furs looked away, save a smoking hot vixen in the corner. She looked like she was trying to not make eye contact with me, but was failing miserably. I visibly blushed when she saw me looking at her looking at me. It is a good thing that I am bisexual, I thought.
Bill started talking again, but I dismissed his ridiculous ideas and went over to talk to the vixen. "Hey," I said to her, "how you doing?"
"What?" She tried to look like she didn't know why I was talking to her. "Are you talking to me?"
"No," I jested, "I'm talking to the table. I do that a lot."
She laughed. Wow, most people don't laugh at my sarcasm.
"What's your name?"
"Jackie."
"Not you, the table."
Another laugh. On a freaking ROLL!
After lots of conversation, we both went to my apartment to get better acquainted. And by "better acquainted," I mean I nearly yiffed her brains out. She didn't help much by getting naked in the car, exposing her C-cups to me as I nearly ran off the road. By the time we got to my apartment, we were both naked and high on each others' scent. I barely made it through the front door before I dove muzzle-first into her wonderfully small pussy. She moaned and groaned as my tongue flicked skillfully around her lips, occaisionally plunging my tongue into her opening. After a short time, she came to her peak, clamping my head between her thighs and screaming as her juices flowed out of her pussy into my eager mouth.
"Oh, my, god..." she said as I continued lapping up her nectar.
"Wow," I said, still buried in her folds, "that was...wow."
She giggled playfully and craned her head to look at my fully-erect eight-inch member, throbbing with need. "Looks like little foxy wants his turn," she bubbled. She got up from the foyer floor (and I had just realized I had made her orgasm and we hadn't even gotten to the bedroom) and proceeded into my living room, beckoning to me with a finger in a super-seductive manner. "Come and get me, foxyboii."
That did it right there. I raced up to her, and, with her scent literally filling my nose, plunged into her. She nearly came as I impaled her with my eight inches, right through her hymen, filling her all the way to my knot. I let her get used to my girth (nearly an inch) and began thrusting. My thrusts were slow at first, but that was more than enough to get her to the brink. "DEEPER!" she commanded. "GO ALL THE WAY, BITCH!" That little bit of domination sent me right to the edge. I buried my knot in her pussy as she wailed with pleasure, and I came HARD in her pussy. I could feel the pressure building as my knot kept all the cum in, then I watched her face as she too came, her pussy walls clamping down on my cock with the force of an alligator. Damn good for a first time. We both laid there for a while, basking in the afterglow. I hadn't noticed it at the time, but someone was watching us yiff.
Someone familiar.
Perhaps I haven't been clear. I managed to escape my doom by using other uncanny abilities I have. One of these is called "traveling." It allows me to go anywhere in space and anyWHEN in time. Don't ask me how it works, I just know how. Allow me to jump forward about three weeks.
"You're breaking up with me?" Bill said, nearly crying.
"No, just...well, actually yes."
Bill started to cry pitifully. Seeing such a great beast brought to tears moved many people. Not me, though.
"Look," I justified, "all you do is work on that project. You never have time for anything but a quick yiff in the shower and stuff like that."
"B-but I'm almost done! I'll have more time later!"
"You've said that for a year now. Sorry if I don't believe it."
Bill's facial expression changed. Creepily. "Well, maybe it's YOU who doesn't have time. How's Jackie?"
I was confused. "How'd you know her name?"
He did not reply and walked away, carrying his grief with him.
About two years later, Jackie had moved away and Bill had dropped off the face of the Earth. I was pretty lonely. Until one day, about a week from destruction, I got a letter.
Dear Matt,
Please come to the White House main entrance sometime this week if you are able. I would like you to see this.
President Bill Q. Poshke, Jr.
When did Bill become president? I thought. Then I realized that he had jokingly run for the House of Representatives, and through some fluke won the Speaker of the House's position. About a week after that, both the President and Vice-President were killed in a tragic accident involving a budget, loose staples, paper cuts, and personal lubricant. Thus, Bill had become president.
And he wanted to see me.
He was waiting at the gate for me. He ran up and gave me a big hug, something the Secret Service (I'm sure) set snipers on me for.
"Glad you made it," he said.
"What's this about?"
He held up a remote. "This."
The remote beeped, and I was violently thrown to a space station anchored at the L1 point between Earth and the Sun.
"Welcome, my friend," he satanically rasped, "welcome to the machine."
"Really? Pink Floyd?"
"I thought it would set the mood."
I looked out the window and saw hundreds of hexagonal plates orbiting the sun. THE hexagonal plates. Bill's "project."
"How--" I started.
"Money is a powerful thing, my friend."
"Are they online?"
"Not yet, but soon they will be."
"Don't do it."
"Why?"
"I looked over your blueprints," I recalled from several years ago, "and they could be reconfigured to be a sort of ultraweapon."
"I'm counting on it"
Awkward pause.
"WHAT?!"
"That's the point. I published those blueprints as a show of power. Hopefully the other nations will get the message after they find those plates hovering over them."
Another awkward pause.
"You're crazy. You are legit CRAZY!"
"Well, do you want to see or not?"
"NO! I don't want another minute of your take-over-the-world crap!"
"Fine. Goodbye."
He pressed a button, and the world flashed to black--rather suddenly I'm back in my own apartment.
About ten minutes later, I saw the collectors go online.
About five after that, the relays.
About an hour later, the sky was thick with hexagonal plates.
I had been ignoring the news for a long time now. It was all negotiations and other stuff about the plates and what they were capable of. I figured that I needed to do something, but I didn't want my powers noticed (I had discovered them about a week after the turn-on). So I went shopping for an art piece to put in my foyer. I was appreciating a rather large print of Van Gogh's "Starry Night" when I received a text from "Unlisted."
Hope you've said your goodbyes. This world's about to end.
Almost instantly I realized who this was from. I dashed outside to see the first of hundreds of beams strike the surface. I don't remember much after that, as I was panicking to get OFF the planet.
Twenty minutes later, the Earth's surface was a flaming lava pit.
It's quite a sight now, here on the moon. The lava's mostly cooled, and dull red patches are everywhere where the beams struck. I can only watch from the space suit as my home sets below the horizon.
That's about when I realized that I needed to do something.
Part 2 will be up when I finish it.